Parallels
by moonchic1023
Summary: Just my take on the latest development with Kutner, why it occurred, how it relates to House, how it will affect House and, eventually, how it will affect his relationship with Cuddy. EDIT: Slight change in Chapter 5. Can you find it?
1. What Do You Do W a Life You Don't Want?

_**A/N: **__**This story looks at the parallels between Kutner and House throughout their history and how the most recent development with Kutner will affect House and his relationship with Cuddy.**_

Please note that there will be a lot of character development of both House and Kutner at first, so we won't be seeing Cuddy or the Huddy effects for a few chapters. I assure you that this is a Huddy fic!

Spoilers through _**Simple Explanation**__****_

Please note: I don't consider myself a fanfic author. A devoted reader, yes, but author? Not so much. However, after watching _**Simple Explanation**__**, I had so many thoughts about the effects it would have on House that I started writing, for my own benefit, a short reflection piece. That "short piece" has grown into the following behemoth.**_

Anyway, this is my first House fanfic and my second fanfic ever, so please be critical, yet kind.

Rated T for child abuse and implied violence.

As always, I own nothing, but I would be willing to rent if that ever became an option. :)

_Neighborhood deli, 1981…_

Lawrence couldn't stop looking at the blood. It was pooling around his feet, threatening the new white shoes his mother had bought him last week for the first day of school. He took a gentle step back, mindful of his mother's outstretched hand. He sat on his step stool, the one his dad kept behind the counter so that when his inquisitive, yet short, son wanted to work the deli counter with him, he could. Lawrence often tried to help, though sometimes his clumsiness got in the way. Not twenty minutes ago, he had accidentally knocked an opened salt shaker on the floor while refilling it. Salt had gone everywhere and his mother had sent him to go get a broom. He was on his way until he saw his Star Wars action figures and soon the broom was forgotten in place of Luke's eternal battle with the dark side. He had only remembered about the salt when he heard loud voices coming from up front.

Lawrence looked down at his mother's hand lying on top of the spilled salt crystals as they slowly turned pink. He avoided looking at her cold, blank eyes and instead picked up her still warm hand and pressed it to his cheek. He inhaled, savoring the familiar scent of olive oil.

He felt completely empty, completely alone, completely lost. His eyes drifted to the cash register, ripped open and emptied of its greenery. Next to was a piece of steel, the gun that had ended his parents' lives and, just as assuredly, his own. Nothing would be the same. That crazed man had ruined everything, taken everything Lawrence had ever cared about.

The man had dropped the gun right after two haunting booms filled the room. Lawrence had heard guns fire on television before, but he would never forget this distinctly different sound. Nor would he forget the sound of the bell above the door merrily jingling as the man's hurried footsteps left the deli.

Lawrence looked at the gun. It had been quick for his parents. He hadn't heard much besides twin startled gasps as they fell to the floor. Maybe it could be just that quick for him…

As he reached out for the gun, police sirens filled the air. He stopped, instinctively glanced towards his parents, and vomited. When he looked up again, he let the blue and red lights sear the images from his eyes as a policeman led him outside. The bell jingled.

_Egypt, 1968…_

Greg listened to the desert winds whistle around him while he nursed his latest wounds in silence. In the distance, he could see ancient monuments and a rising moon, but he could not see an escape.

He had been late to dinner tonight. What's worse was that he had been planning to be late to dinner. His father was out on assignment so his mother had given him permission to go to Paul-Henri's family's flat off base. Paul-Henri was top in Greg's classes and admired by all. And, for a reason unknown to Greg, Paul-Henri considered him to be a worthy friend.

Unfortunately, while Paul-Henri was an amicable French boy, his father was an outspoken, anti-military French man. John House had made it clear that Greg was to have nothing whatsoever to do with Paul-Henri or any of this family, which made his tardiness this evening even worse.

Greg had run home, excited to tell his mother about his football prowess against Paul-Henri and his brothers, when a looming shadow crossed the door like an ominous eclipse.

"Where in the hell have you been, boy? Dinner's been ready for over an hour and you're just now home?" bellowed the elder House, with all military force and power in his words.

Greg attempted to choose his words carefully, well aware of his grass stained clothing. "There was an after school football match and I was chosen for the team. I told Mom I may be a bit late to…." He was cut off by a hand to his head that made his ears ring.

"I don't tolerate lying, boy. I know you were at that weasel's house, so don't lie!" Greg peered through the door and saw his mother cowering in a corner. He couldn't be sure, but it seemed her arm had welts on it. Then he saw the belt hanging off the back of their chair. His eyes widened and he prepared to run, but before he could, his father's other meaty hand reached out and knocked him to the ground.

"Don't even think about it. You're late, you're dirty, you've disobeyed, and you've lied. You WILL be punished."

Greg was just raising himself on all fours when he was sent back down by the force of the leather biting through his t-shirt. Again and again the belt slapped across his back, raising welts on his skin while his mother wept. Greg, though, heard nothing but his own rage and the crickets in the background.

"You. Are. Never. To. Go. To. That. Boy's. Home. Again. Do. You. Under. Stand. Me?" Each grunted syllable was punctuated by another whip of the belt. Finally, it ended. "And if you don't want to come home on time, how about you just not come home period? You'll stay outside tonight, you good-for-nothing piece of shit!" His mother's pleas were silenced by the door's slam.

Greg carefully picked himself off the ground and walked through the perfectly paralleled streets of the base until he reached the outer fence. There, a caring father had set a baby pool up for his young son to splash in while the family was outside during the day. It still had water in it. Greg took off his shirt and dipped it into the pool, using the water to soothe his back. He gazed out at the desert.

"I wonder what it would be like to just walk into the desert and just walk and walk and walk until you couldn't go any farther. Would you just pass out into oblivion? " he wondered. "Would it feel like a dream? Would it make your nightmare of a life go away?" Greg knew that he couldn't escape his father by running away. He had no money, nowhere to go, no way to live. And his father would find him. He was certain of that. His father would find him just to punish him. But maybe he didn't have to run away; maybe he could just walk away and disappear. ..

He was still envisioning the carrion birds cleaning his bones, effectively hiding him from his father forever when he heard his mother's loud whisper of "Greg?" across the yards. He flashed back to the welts on her arm and knew he couldn't go, he could never go.


	2. What's in a Name?

_**A/N: What's in a name? We're about to find out.**_

Thanks for continuing to read! Again, Kutner and House perspectives in this chapter. Lack of Cuddy (I know, I miss her too!), but enjoy the build up of House's character until we get there. I think it's worth the wait, but then again, I know where everything is going. I'm kinda like David Shore that way. :)

_**As always, I own nothing…**_

**Chapter 2: What's in a Name?**

_Schofield High School, 1990…_

"I choose…Kutner!"

Lawrence didn't move until someone pushed him from behind. "Wake-up Lawrence, that's you! Moron!"

Even though he now carried the name, by his own decision, for nearly two years, it still never clicked.

"Whatever man, fine." Lawrence jogged over to his basketball team, avoiding crack on the blacktop, just wishing for gym class to be over. In all of his other classes, he could be quiet and think without anyone bothering him too much. They just made fun of the quiet nerdy kid. Gym class required his attention though, as he still sported the black eye from where a softball had hit him out of the blue last week.

As they began to play, Lawrence couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering. "Am I Kutner? That's what my papers say now, but is that who I am? Is this even real? Will I ever be someone more than the kid who watched his parents die? Changing my name can't erase that…I can never escape…I can never change who I am, can I?"

Suddenly, he runs into something small and…bony? "Watch where you're going!!" One of his classmates yells out as he stumbles from Lawrence's impact. Lawrence tries to remember his name. It's Jonathan, another quiet, meek kid. Who is also incredibly short. All of sudden, Lawrence is possessed.

"Well, shrimp, maybe if you came up to eye level, I would have actually seen you in my way!"

The gym class goes silent. They've barely ever heard Lawrence talk, let alone yell and insult someone. Jonathan's face falls from annoyance to disbelief. The gym teacher is occupied with another group of students at the other end of the court, so Lawrence presses on.

"Seriously Tiny Tim, why are you even on the court? Don't you need a pogo-stick just to reach the basket? Or do you just save that for special occasions, like when you try to reach up to kiss a girl?"

Several of the troublemakers in the class snicker, sensing the need to back one of their own. Even the girls titter on the sidelines, knowing they would never date a guy as short as Jonathan. For his part, Jonathan is still standing like a deer caught in the headlights, so Lawrence decides to go in for the kill.

"Except we all know that Debbie Powell really doesn't want anything to do with you, no matter how many times you tutor her in math or drive her around or stare at the back of her head!"

That did it. The whole class erupted into laughter and Jonathan's face went red with embarrassment. Everyone knew he liked Debbie, one of the tallest girls on the basketball team, and everyone knew that Debbie was just using him to do her math homework and for rides to wherever she wanted to go.

Suddenly, a whistle blew. "This doesn't look like basketball to me," the gym teacher snarled. "Back to work!"

As the group broke up, several of the guys came up to Lawrence. "That was hilarious, Lawrence! That kid needed to know how lame he actually is!" They laughed and slapped him on the back.

"Thanks guys, but call me Kutner."

_Japan, 1973…_

Greg stares down his long legs to his ragged sneakers as he slouches in the waiting room of the local military hospital. A friend of John's was here for some reason or another, so the obligatory Marine buddy visitation was in full swing.

"Gregory House, stop slouching like that! You'll end up a hunchback!" He looked up to see his mother jokingly admonishing him.

"Guess I'll just have to find a bell tower then."

Blythe smiles at her son and shakes her head as she walks off, passing a mother holding a fussing baby. From its size, it's obviously an infant. Greg watches with interest as the mother tries to calm the baby down . Suddenly, a man walks up besides them.

"Oh honey, the baby won't stop crying. I've tried everything I can think of, but he's just upset," the woman said to the man who appeared to be her husband.

"Shhh…let me try." The man holds out his arms for the bundle and confidently wraps his arms around it. In low soothing tones, he begins to talk to and rock the baby. Soon the baby is completely asleep.

"Ahhh…so that is what a father looks like." Greg thought sarcastically. After determining that John could not be his biological father, Greg had grown even more detached from the man. He still hated him, but at least he could comfort himself that he wasn't a House, not really. If nothing else, maybe he did have an escape in his genes. Oddly enough, this thought never comforted him liked he hoped it would. "If I'm not Gregory House, who am I? Am I only what that brute is shaping me into? Am I the good-for-nothing boy that he'll never listen to?"

His reverie was broken by a group of doctors speaking loud, rapid Japanese. In the middle of the group he noticed what seemed to be a buraku janitor. Greg was surprised. One would rarely see a group of highly respected Japanese doctors speaking openly to a member of the buraku. Interested, he decided it was time to test those months of Japanese classes.

"Need you." "Must solve." "Going to die." Greg picked up snippets of the conversation. His eyes widened as he realized that this man was not a janitor, but a doctor, or at least a very well educated janitor. The other doctors couldn't solve a difficult medical case and they needed a consult. The man listened to them and told them what Greg could only guess to be a treatment plan. The doctors looked visibly relieved and then left without a word of thanks. The man just walked down the hall.

"Even an outcast can be important if he knows enough," Greg thought. Suddenly, he realized something. "If you know the answers, then people have to listen to you. They can't hurt you, they can't control you, they need you." He watched the retreating buraku. "You don't have to be defined by the name you are given. You can be defined by what you know."

Gregory House sat up taller as he began to plan.


	3. What's Your Purpose?

_**A/N: What's your purpose for living? **__**More Kutner and House histories and Cuddy finally makes a cameo! Yay!**_

_**I own nothing, but I wouldn't mind Santa putting House in my stocking for Christmas this year…**_

**Chapter 3: What's Your Purpose?**

_Apartment near the University of California at Berkley, 1996_

Kutner stared at the gun in his hand and tried to calm the aching in his chest. It should have been a great day for him. He had just finished his finals and he knew, just knew, he had aced them. He had also just received a letter from the university stating that he would be inducted into some prestigious honorary or another. He had just called his parents and they couldn't hold back their litany of praises. It should have been a wonderful day.

Until he hung up the phone, looked at the picture hanging on the way, and realized that it was impossible to talk to the people he wanted to most.

It often happened like this. The days that were his most successful, the most memorable of his life were the hardest. These were the days that his parents would never get to see. A nearly crippling grief would consume him until he was staring at the barrel of his gun, which he had convinced the Kutners he needed for protection, and wondering if today was the day he would see his mother and father again.

He tried, sometimes desperately, to live the life they would have wanted him to have: winning science fairs, getting scholarships, training to be a doctor so that he could help other kids not lose their parents (though he told people it was because of the sarcastic wit of Hawkeye Pierce). He knew his success would have made them proud, but it was all bittersweet knowing that they could never actually experience it.

As he looked at the gun again, preparing to make a final decision, he stepped to the side and bumped the front entry table. A decorative mirror that his adoptive mother had given him to class up his "college chic" apartment faltered and leaned to fall. Kutner quickly set the gun down and caught the it. As he replaced the mirror, he noticed that there was a letter from the county on the top of his mail pile. In his haste to read the letter from the university, he had forgotten about the rest of the mail. Wondering what the letter could be, Kutner picked it up and opened it. A grim line settled across his mouth.

"They can't let him out. "

Decision made, Kutner went to put the gun away before calling the parole board to set up his testimony.

"If I do nothing else in this life, I will keep this man in jail. He will not destroy another family."

His purpose set, Kutner locked the gun in its case. He wouldn't look at it again for years.

_New Jersey, 1999…_

House sat straight up in a cold sweat, grunting in agony. Not even the extra EXTRA dose of pain meds he had taken could allow him more than a few hours of rest. Out of habit, his left hand reached toward the brown glass bottle of liquor and his right hand reached toward the brown plastic bottle of pills.

After he had swallowed from both bottles, he looked around the apartment. What was he doing this for? He was dirty, in pain, and alone. Is this how he wanted to live for the rest of his life? Reduced to a drunk, high cripple with cockroaches as his only company since no one could deal with him now, not even the woman who was supposed to love him?

Thoughts of Stacy caused the automatic reach for both bottles again, but he stopped himself. What was he doing? Why should he prolong his torture when he could just end it? His left hand changed course to open a drawer in his bedside table. "Salvation lies within," House mumbled.

A vial of morphine and a syringe appeared in his hand. It was supposed to be a secret, given to him from a sympathetic nurse who thought his eyes were just 'dreamy.' She was young, with doe-eyes and thin skin, and just a few moments of whining about how he had been misdiagnosed and violated, leaving him a crippled genius doctor for the rest of his life, had her slipping him the morphine for the "tough days". He ignored the pity in her eyes and tucked the drug away. It was enough to kill him if administered properly. It was enough to completely end the pain.

House methodically tied off his arm and filled the syringe. As he squeezed the air out through the needed, he heard the shrill ring of his phone sound out. Once, twice, thrice, click.

"Go away. I don't need anything and I surely don't need you or your pity."

His answering machine message was succinct, if nothing else. He half-smiled to himself.

"House, it's Dr. Cuddy…"

"Well, now if that voice doesn't drive a man to death, then nothing else will," House reflected grimly on his betrayer, thinking about the parallels between Cuddy and Judas. It was now obvious she worked for the Satan. If the current leg pain wasn't proof enough of her evil-doing, then a glance at her breasts and ass would do the trick. She HAD to make a deal with a devil to get those. No woman could be that perfectly-shaped.

He half listened to her as he prepped his vein.

"…pulmonary problems…scans clear…blood work negative…going to die…need help….need YOUR help…" The symptoms interested him, but it was her plea that stopped him. He was still needed.

House knew he was the most brilliant diagnostician in the States and, most likely, in the world. He had reached the goal that he set for himself that day he had seen the buraku doctor. He had learned everything he could learn to make him the top in his field, except now he personally knew one thing which most other doctors didn't: what it was like to be on the wrong side of a wrong diagnosis.  
He may not have his leg, but he still had his mind. Even though he would never be fixed, never be whole, he could still prevent others from reaching his fate.

He set the morphine and down and picked up the phone, interrupting Cuddy as she blathered on about "natural ability", "duty", and "good for you."

"Bring me the case file. But you don't get in the door without Chinese, a six-pack, and a fresh Vicodin prescription."


	4. What Makes Your Life Worth Living?

_**A/N: **__**What makes your life worth living? More Kutner and House reflections and (great news!), a good deal of the one and only Lisa Cuddy!**_

_**I own nothing, but God, do I want to!**_

_**Reviews would be greatly appreciated!**_

**Chapter 4: What Makes Your Life Worth Living?**

_New Jersey, 2007…_

Kutner looked at the pile of boxes stacked in his new apartment, still not believing that he had somehow made it as a House fellow. He was ecstatic, even if his new contract came with a clause about undergoing extensive safety training on hospital equipment, especially defibrillators.

"Might as well get to work." He ripped the tape off a box and got started. He worked for hours, unpacking boxes, organizing his kitchen cupboards, and hanging his lucky horse shoe above the door. Eventually, he got to the box that contained his gun.

Pulling out the gun case, Kutner remembered when he had looked at it last. Today of all days, a day of true success, would have caused him more guilt than pride in the past. Now though, he was happy. He didn't need to open the case. He didn't need to hold that gun and wonder how quick it would be.

It had been hard at first, living his life for the sole purpose of keeping that man in jail. Once he had a true reason to live, he'd had to start finding things that made living more enjoyable. He had gotten use to putting up a happy façade, but if he was truly going to live in this world, then he needed to actually try this "living life to the fullest" business that his youth counselors used to tell him about.

And he had. He smiled now, remember how he'd taken every minor interest he'd ever had and converted it to a full-blown hobby. An interest in Sci-Fi led to him learning Klingon and collecting Star Wars props. An interest record-breaking had led to 20 miles of crawling and a title in the Guiness Book of World Records. An interest in just being free and living without fear of consequences had led to a world of streaking, drinking, practical jokes, friends, and fun. No one, knowing him now, would have any idea who he used to be and what he used to plan. He was free.

Kutner went and put the gun case under his bed, careful to walk around the tall ladder he'd been using to hang pictures. He returned to his boxes to find one labeled, "Christmas Decorations".

"Hmmm…I wonder if House will let us do Secret Santas?"

_New Jersey, 2008…._

"Did that really just happen? Did I really just kiss Cuddy?"

House sat at his piano, somehow drunkenly tapping the keys into beautiful melodies while talking to himself and eyeing the bottle of Scotch he had ready should he need to continue to disinfect his mouth from the Cuddy germs.

"I mean really! The idea! I didn't even get to see the twins!"

As he reached for the Scotch on his left, his eyes took in the sight before him. Scotch, take-out financed by Wilson's "missing" credit card, Vicodin, his piano….all of his vices, all in a row. Where were the Monster Trucks when you needed them?

"Scotch to left of me, pills to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you!" he revised the Stealers Wheel classic joyfully until he realized what he was stuck in the middle with was his most stubborn, gratifying, and annoying vice of all: Cuddy.

He signed and put his head in his hands. Living this life he had created for himself hadn't been easy. While medical puzzles kept his pulse going, all his other vices and enjoyments were what pushed him out of bed in the morning to go find his next case. What could he do to Wilson today? Which duckling was due to be insulted next? Was it Rueben day in the cafeteria? Which soap opera was revealing an affair/murder/transgendered priest? Each of these seemingly insignificant thoughts was an integral part of the engine that kept Gregory House running. Sadly though, none of these compared to the Cuddy thoughts, especially now that he had tasted her lips again.

Cuddy had been a reason for him to greet each new day even before the infarction happened, before he even knew that sometimes you need a reason to get up in the morning. House groaned through his drunken haze as he remembered the beginning of his "Life With Lisa Cuddy."

It was the fall of his last year of med school before his residency and the last night before class started, which meant the last chance to party until the weekend. His friend Rob was hosting a "Let's Give the Underclassman Girls Alcohol and See What Happens" gathering at his apartment. Greg rarely participated in these parties, finding his name and roguish charm to be adequate enough persuasion in finding an evening companion. However, he didn't mind watching both genders make drunken fools of themselves in their quest to find a bedmate, so he came. He was currently chatting up a leggy blond early education major, who seemed to know little more than how to count to ten, when he heard a throaty laugh from across the room.

He would never admit it, but he was taken in an instant with the petite, shapely, laughing brunette. She looked…._interesting_. This was the highest compliment Gregory House could give someone. "Interesting" meant that he wanted to know more than just her anatomy. He wanted to talk to her, figure her out, and get her away from Rob's friend Carl who was obviously, and obnoxiously, trying to intoxicate and bed her.

As she was with a group of who he presumed was her friends, and in no imminent danger from Carl, he decided to observe her for awhile. He led the blond over the keg, where he introduced her to Rob and left the two of them there to drool over each other for a bit, while he went to stake out his vantage point.

He watched her for hours. Listened to her talk and laugh and somehow not become tipsy with all the alcohol Carl kept bringing her. Carl seemed to notice this too and was showing signs of great disappointment. Then one girl in the group suggested they start doing shots and Carl's eyes lit up. He rushed off to find them liquor. Only then did Greg notice the brunette discretely dump out the contents of her cup into potted plant behind her. Greg grinned.

"Here you go Lisa!" Carl yelled as he practically skipped over carrying a tray of shot glasses. The brunette took one, followed by her friends.

"Ahhh…Lisa. So that's your name." Greg thought as he watched her take the drink like a pro. More than likely, it was only the first or second drink she'd had all night. He decided to go talk to her before Carl could force another drink down her throat.

Greg confidently ambled over the group. "Ladies." He addressed the group with his most charming smirk and gazed at each of them in turn with his blue eyes. He laughed internally as his perfected opening had its desired effect. They gasped and dropped their mouths open, just looking at him. Except for the brunette, who just looked amused. He was even more intrigued. "Carl, can I have a shot or two of what you've got there?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed two off of the tray and offered one to the brunette. "Come on now, don't let a man drink alone."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she answered. They deftly took their shots together.

"Well, now that I've treated you to drinks, perhaps I can upgrade the offer to dinner? I see some lovely appetizers over there," Greg said, motioning towards a bowl of cheese puffs in the corner.

"Love to." As she took his arm to walk off, Greg glanced back to see a slack-jawed Carl staring daggers at his back. Greg smirked.

"Ugh, thank you for getting me away from that simpering buffoon! I couldn't take much more," the girl stated.

"Well, you may thank me, but I don't believe I was thinking of you at the time. I was more worried about the blood alcohol content of that poor plant," he motioned to the pot.

She laughed at being caught. "Don't worry. I wouldn't have let it drive home inebriated." She paused, seeming to evaluate him. "I'm Lisa, by the way."

"And I'm Greg." He left off his last name. Most of the returning undergraduates knew the legend of Gregory House and would fawn all over him based only on that. He really wanted to get to know this girl and he wanted her to know more about him than his name. "So Lisa, what are you doing here in Michigan?"

"Well, I'm a sophomore pre-med major-"

"Pre-med?" Greg interjected. "Color me surprised."

Lisa immediately arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow and crossed her arms over what, Greg realized now, was a truly magnificent pair of breasts. "And why is that?" she asked coolly.

"Because you're beautiful," Greg said without hesitation. She blinked but didn't move. He continued, "And beautiful people never HAVE to work hard, so you choosing to be a doctor means that you're either extremely beautiful AND intelligent or you just haven't failed enough classes to realize that you'll never live up to your 'Doctor Barbie with stethoscope included' dreams. Plus, you seem more like the type of girl who should be looking to marry a good Jewish doctor, not be one."

He looked at her, waiting. Waiting to see if she got angry. Waiting to see if she got teary. Just waiting to see what type of person this girl was. To his surprise, she laughed and uncrossed her arms.

"Have you been talking to my mother? Because you seem to be paraphrasing every conversation I've had with her for the past 10 years. Yes, I am going to be a doctor. Yes, I am amazingly attractive as well as intelligent and," she stopped, noticing that his gaze had fallen ever so slightly, "yes, they're real."

Greg had the surprising decency to look embarrassed. "Can't blame a guy for a natural reaction." They both laughed.

As the night wore on, and the people around them got more and more intoxicated, Greg and Lisa just stood in the corner by the cheese puffs, talking. Greg was fascinated by her. She was witty and sarcastic and kept up with him. He was just about ready to ask her if she wanted to leave the party and go to the local coffee shop, when her friend walked up and promptly puked on his shoes.

As Lisa pulled the girl's hair back into a ponytail, she looked up at Greg. "I'm sorry, I've got to get Sarah home. It was a pleasure talking to you." She paused and seemed to be debating something.

"Can I have your number?" Greg, the king of the suave males, blurted out. He would have been horrified at himself had he not be so desperate to talk to this girl again. She smiled and, reaching for a napkin, wrote down her information.

"I'll see you soon," Greg called as she walked away.

He didn't realize how soon that would be.

Classes started the next day and Greg was a graduate assistant for the Advanced Pre-Med Biology class. The class was normally only seniors, so Greg was noticeably surprised when he saw a familiar brunette walk into the room, looking for a seat. His surprise transferred into a smirk when she looked up, saw him, and did a remarkable impression of a deer caught in headlights. However, Greg's smirk did drop to disappointment, when, after the instructor introduced him as Gregory House, he noticed Lisa drop her head into her hands and issue a barely audible groan.

After class, Lisa attempted to hurry down the hallway. Greg's long legs caught up to her before she was able to leave the building.

"Ms. Cuddy, how are you today?" He was overly formal as her classmates filed past. In a lower voice he continued, "I was hoping we could pick up where we left off-."

"No." The word was concise and deadly.

"No?" He asked. He was confused, a little put off, but even more determined. He blocked her path. "Why not?"

"Because Gregory HOUSE, you are my TA, you are Gregory HOUSE, and you lied to be about being Gregory HOUSE. " She stressed his last name as one would a particularly offensive curse word. " I know about you and I will be neither an experiment nor a conquest. If you are as smart as the rumors say you are, you'll move out of my way."

He stood unfazed. "Ah, so you have heard of me. So you must have heard how fantastic I am in be-"

"I'm leaving. Right now." She sidestepped him and starting clicking her heels down the hall.

"Lisa, wait. Please." The plea got her. She stopped, hesitated, and turned around. He took a deep breath. "Yes, I am Greg House, but I am also the same guy you met last night. If I wanted a "conquest" as you put it, I could have easily found one. If I wanted to mess with your head and "experiment" on you, I would have already done it. However, you interested me, so I wanted to talk to you. If I would have told you my name, you would have either fawned over me like the plethora of loose-legged morons that populate this campus OR detested me with a vengeance, which I am seeing is your brand of choice. In any case, if you had known my name last night, you would have reacted to only my name and not to me. I am NOT my name." He watched her facial expression as he continued, "As for being your TA, how was I supposed to know you would be in a senior level class?"

"Because I AM as amazingly intelligent as I am beautiful," she said in condescending tone that was belied by her smile. "So are you saying you aren't as big of an ass as the campus gossip makes you out to be?"

"Oh, no. I am. Probably bigger," he corrected. "Make no mistake of that. However, I am only an ass to the people who deserve it. So," he continued, "how about we run down to the bakery on Third? They make some great scones-."

"Sorry, still no." Lisa looked up at him apologetically. "I can't get romantically involved with my TA, no matter how brilliant he supposedly is. No one would ever believe that I made it through the class without 'extra credit'."

"Brilliant, huh? Well it's good to know that my reputation isn't just about my male prowess." He paused. "And what's wrong with some 'extra credit'? I know you liked me enough last night that you wouldn't have minded getting some," Greg leered suggestively.

Lisa rolled her eyes. "So not going to happen. Anything that transpired last night was before I knew all the facts."

"Aha! So you did like me! You admit it!" Greg grinned triumphantly.

"Again with the 'not going to happen.' Anyway, if you found me interesting enough last night to talk to instead of hit on, why can't we just continue on that road?"

"Me? Talk to a member of the female persuasion and not lure her into my bed?" House mock gasped. "I don't know if that is physically possible."

She smiled again. "Well, if you are able to overcome your physical…uh…limitations…" She allowed her eyes to graze over his body.

"Hey! I am NOT limited! Take that back!"

"Then feel free to give me a call." She turned and began walking away.

Greg was quiet for a moment before he called out, "So you just want to be friends?"

Over her shoulder she called back, "Let's just start with acquaintances."

Greg watched her hips sway as she walked away from him. "We'll see, Lisa Cuddy. We'll see."

And that was how it started. They began by just talking briefly before and after class. Soon those conversations stretched into lunches and coffee breaks, then tutoring sessions, then movie nights. His tutoring kept her at the top of her class and her friendship kept him grounded. People often wondered about them, but Cuddy kept it platonic, no matter how many times Greg tried to change her mind. "You're my TA," she would say. "It can't happen." As the semester closed, Greg did everything he could to make sure she wouldn't be in any of his classes the next semester. He even went so far as to lie to her about what times he was teaching. Greg was surprised, then, when he found her name on his roll for his other advanced Pre-Med class.

"How did you get into my section again?" Greg asked. "How am I ever going to see what's under those low cut shirts if you continue to keep this Puritan status about being my student?!"

Lisa smiled. "Well, I went to my advisor and told him that I wanted you as my TA. He seemed a little concerned as to why. Turns out a lot of ladies try to take your classes so that they can stare at your 'dreaminess' only to fail out while you laugh at them. I assured him that I just found particular satisfaction in ruining your track record by turning in perfect assignments. He signed me up immediately. Something about you needing 'a good comeuppance'."

House groaned. "So you're condemning me to another semester of playing 'look but don't touch' with your luscious ass? Even when you're wearing your party pants?" he whined.

Lisa smirked. "We all have our crosses to bear.

And bear it he did. All fall semester and all spring semester, he spent all his time around Lisa Cuddy, talking to Lisa Cuddy, having fun with Lisa Cuddy, yet not sleeping with Lisa Cuddy. It was oddly the most fulfilling relationship he had ever had. And then it was finals week and they were both frantic with their studies until it was over. The classes were over. The year was over. Her resistance was over.

Greg had just finished putting together the desk he gotten her as gift for acing all her finals. She had said she would never study as well without him, so he wanted to get her something meaningful, something she would always use and thus remember him by, when he heard a knock. He opened the door to find Lisa. She had come to him. "I'm not your student anymore."

He locked eyes with her. "I'm not your TA anymore." His lips crashed onto hers, his arms pulled her inside, and the door slammed behind them.

The next morning, he awoke to his favorite dream come true. He wanted to say so much, tell her that he loved her, that he needed her, that they could make this relationship work, that he wouldn't ruin this like he did everything else in his life. Instead, he looked down at her and, with complete seriousness, said, "Yours are the funnest funbags that I've ever had the opportunity to play with."

She groaned, slapped him, and pulled him into another kiss. Conversation could wait. A desk needed christening.

House downed another few Vicodin as he remembered that first, and last, night with Cuddy. "I wonder how pissed Stacy would be to know that I only started dating her because she reminded me of Cuddy," he mused evilly. It was true. Lisa had ruined him for all women who were not intelligent, powerful, and witty brunettes. That's why most of his hookers were blonds. No fear of getting attached.

The clock in his living room chimed and House grunted in discomfort as he rose from the piano bench. Time to continue his routine of sleep, work, solve impossible puzzles, slack-off, and insult Cuddy for her clearly work-inappropriate shirts. House grinned, excited by the promise of a new day and the possible exposure level of Lisa Cuddy's breasts.


	5. What Do You Do When Your Life is Over?

_**A/N: **__**What do you do when your life is over? Here's the end! I hope you enjoyed the path my mind took with these characters. Please let me know your thoughts.**_

_**Warning: Chapter contains character death.**_

_**I own nothing, but God, do I want to!**_

_**Reviews would be greatly appreciated!**_

_**Slight edits have occurred. Can you find them? : )**_

**Chapter 5: What Do You Do When Your Life is Over?**

_New Jersey, April 2009…_

Kutner just stared at the phone, nearly forgetting to breathe.

His parents' murderer was dead. Just like that.

His phone made a horrible screeching noise and a nasally voice started to remind him that if he would like to make a call, then he would need to hang up and try again. Kutner hit the power button and let the phone drop, not even noticing that the battery popped out when it hit floor.

Ten minutes ago, life was normal. Ten minutes ago, he had arrived home for work. Eight minutes ago he noticed his calendar that his parents' murderer's next parole hearing was coming up. He was slightly surprised he hadn't received his usual call reminding him so that he could schedule his trip to testify. Six minutes ago he called the parole board. Two minutes ago, after finally navigating his way through the parole board's switchboard, he had been told that the man had died in jail two months ago and had no one notified him? He must have grunted some type of reply because the woman apologized for the lack of communication, thanked him for his service to the county, and bid him good day. He stood frozen, uncomprehending.

Suddenly, thirteen years of suppressed grief, anger, and disbelief hit Kutner in the gut. Overwhelmed, he fell into a sobbing heap onto the tiled floor. He cried until exhaustion took him.

Several hours later, a completely drained Lawrence pulled himself up off the floor. His parents' murderer was dead. He should be feeling a sense of peace or relief, but instead he felt hollow. What was he supposed to do now? His purpose had been to keep that man in jail and his purpose was complete. What now?

Almost without realizing it, Lawrence found himself walking into his bedroom and pulling his gun case out from under the bed. He unlocked and saw what he had seen so many times, so many years ago: peace. Picking it up, he caressed the barrel. Contrary to every safety expert, he had always kept the gun loaded. He knew just how quickly someone could take your life, so he never wanted to risk dying while searching for his bullets.

Lawrence fell easily back into his old habits of debating the worth of his life versus the worth of his death. What was keeping him alive now? He had no purpose, no function, not even really as a doctor. His parole testimony was something only he could do; it was up to him. Anyone could be a doctor, hundreds of thousands of people already were. House could easily fill a void his team. And anyway, he'd already proven his worth as a doctor. Hadn't he been the one to solve the last case? He was no longer Dr. Lawrence Kutner, Defibrillator Menace and Superstitious Freak. He was a respected colleague with good ideas. He had proved he was an intelligent, hardworking person.

And he was a good person. He had unselfishly let Taub take the credit for the case so that Taub could keep his job. He had even sought Jonathan out at Christmas to apologize for everything he taunted him about in high school. He babysat Cuddy's kid when no one else would. He cared about others and tried to help them or at least make them laugh. He had fulfilled his hope of becoming a person of whom his parents would be proud.

He sobbed. God, he missed his parents. No matter how many days went by, no matter how he tried to divert himself, it always came down to that. He was incomplete. And now he had no purpose, nor the energy to find a new one. His life, as he knew it, was over. He whispered the only truth he knew to be absolute.

"Everybody dies."

Lawrence took a deep breath and tasted the salt that spilled down his cheeks. As he tensed to pull the trigger, he could have sworn he smelled olive oil.

_New Jersey, April 2009…_

The heady odor of dried blood entered and exited House's nostrils with every breath he took. He was still sitting on Kutner's bed, looking at pictures, looking for clues, trying to understand. Why didn't he see this coming?

He saw everything, knew everything. He knew Wilson was sleeping with a new needy woman, he knew 'Foreteen' was still going strong despite their oh-so-convincing acting abilities, he knew Taub was going to come back with that box of donuts, he knew that Cuddy only wore the red lacy thong on days she had donor meetings, and he knew he was always going to solve the puzzle in the end. But House still didn't know why Kutner decided his brains needed to take an express vacation from his head.

House sighed and rubbed his eyes. What if he was slipping? What if it wasn't just the methadone? He wasn't getting any younger and the puzzles weren't getting any easier. Although, if he couldn't do his job, then what was he good for?

"Absolutely nothing," his father's voice roared to life inside him. "You're a worthless, miserable excuse for a man. You were never good enough for anything."

"Living in misery sucks marginally less than dying in it," House quoted himself aloud. "Hah! Maybe Kutner had the right idea all along. Maybe you just have to escape."

And, not for the first time, House reconsidered ending his pain. "Foreman's almost ready. He would take over my position. The ducklings would fall in line, Cameron would tear up and imagine all those times her love could have saved me from myself, and Chase would be frustrated with Cameron's fangirl tears. Wilson may shed a tear or two, but he's always prepared himself for the possibility. He made it through Amber; he can make it through me. Plus, he'd save a lot of money. And Cuddy…"

He paused. Cuddy would be pissed and crying and spiteful to his corpse. She would probably find some mystic shaman and summon his spirit from beyond the grave just so that she could yell at him more. He began a wry smile. He knew her so well, he knew she'd-

A sudden dread stopped him. Did he know her? Did he know anyone anymore? He hadn't known that Kutner even had the potential to think about killing himself, let alone actually go through with it, so what did he know about everyone else? He knew Cuddy cared for him, she had practically admitted it before he ruined the moment by grabbing her boob. She was the one who held his hand after the bus accident last year, she was the one offering him methadone to sooth his pain, she was the one who saved him from jail. What would Cuddy do if faced with his death? God, she nearly broke when she lost that kid that wasn't even hers yet. A new thought occurred to him. What would she do if something happened with this new brat? He remembered messing with her when she had a foster home visit coming up. He had done it just because he could, to annoy her and show her the difficulties of the life she was choosing, but what if she did lose Rachel? What if Cuddy ever hurt herself? What would HE do? How could he live then?

Unnamed panic and need seized a hold of one Greg House and, before he could question it, he was out of Kutner's apartment and flying through the streets of New Jersey. Soon he was parking his bike and limping up to a familiar front door.

A puzzled and annoyed Cuddy yanked open her door, effectively halting the cane that was currently pounding out a rhythm against it. She tried to look enraged, but it was tempered by her yawning. "House, go away! It's three in the morning and Rachel's asleep. I cannot deal with whatev-"

"Lisa."

Cuddy was stalled by the use of her first name. She took a moment to look at House, to really look at him. She was startled to see that his blue eyes were, shockingly, unguarded and wet. Pain radiated from every pore of his features. His breathing was coming in sharp, shallow puffs. He looked like a dying man.

It was over. The world he created in which he alone reigned supreme and knew all had come crashing down. His lies were over. His loneliness was over. His denial was over.

He had come to her.

He whispered the one truth he knew to be absolute, "Everybody lies." He reached his hand out to touch her cheek. "Even me. Especially me." He took a deep breath and continued. "I'm not your employee tonight."

"I'm not your boss tonight," she said back without hesitation, echoing sentiments from years ago.

Again, lips met lips, arms tangled, and a door shut behind them. Gregory House's life, as he knew it, was over.


End file.
